Caretaker
by Bookman230
Summary: Joan's sick. Sherlock helps. "My favorite breakfast is important enough to fit in your brain attic?" "Watson, you have an entire room."


Joan woke up. By herself. Naturally. No violin screeching her awake, or food suddenly dropped onto her lap. or even a bellowing 'Watson!'.This understandably put her on edge. That, and her stuffed nose, sore throat, and fevered body. Great. She was sick. Joy. She probably didn't have any right to be surprised after yesterday, but it was still annoying. She could get up, but her body seemed to melt into the bed, and knowing him, there was a good chance Sherlock was within earshot, probably expecting this. Then again, he'd probably be in earshot even if he _didn't_ know she was sick, wanting to show her some experiment or other. Either way, worth a shot.

"Sher-" she rasped out, but before she could even finish, her theory was proven correct as the door quietly opened. There Sherlock was, and his unsurprised expression, as well as the food tray in his hand, confirmed her initial suspicion.

"Watson. I see you're awake."

"Yeah," she replied, wincing at the hoarseness of her voice.

"I believe this is where I say 'I told you so'."

"The one time _I_ chase a suspect through the rain and _I_ get sick," she grumbled.

Sherlock smiled appeasingly. "Just rotten luck, it seems."

"Or maybe your body's just more used to stupid decisions than mine is," she retorted.

"Ah. You're a grumpy patient, then."

" _Sherlock_ ," she growled, while he looked cheeky. He gently set the food down before her. Joan smiled.

"Your favorite," he said, casually, as if it were nothing.

"I just realized. I never told you those were my favorite. But you figured it out anyway."

He shuffled awkwardly. "...I observe," he started after a pause. "You know that."

"And my favorite breakfast is important enough to fit in your brain attic?" she teased.

"Watson, you have an entire _room_. Now. Are you going to eat, or is mocking me more satisfactory?" he questioned in that embarrassed way he'd get whenever they touched that pesky thing called 'emotion'. She smiled, touched. Then she smirked.

"Hmmm… choices, choices…"

"Eat," he insisted, shoving the food towards her. She chuckled weakly.

"Thanks."

He waved it off. "It's nothing. Your smart and quick thinking allowed you to both identify and neutralize the suspect."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I never said it _was_. What I mean is, consider this…" he waved a hand dramatically over the food, "a hero's feast."

"A feast, huh? Well, I don't exactly have the time for that, but breakfast will be nice before I get back to work."

"Watson," he admonished, "I insist you stay in bed. Look at yourself."

Joan did, and she noticed she looked like… well. Sick. Still, she never enjoyed giving him the vindication of being right. "I look fine."

There was a beat. "There's never a right answer to that, is there?" 

"Ha ha."

"The point is, you are in no condition to work today."

"But my clients-"

"Shall be interviewed by me, and the notes thereof will be delivered to you for you to decide the course of action to be taken. I will merely do the legwork for you until your condition has improved."

"What if the NYPD-"

"The same action will be taken, I shall take notes, and confer with you when I return. You can work. You must merely work from home."

Joan wryly smiled. "You've thought out your argument, haven't you?"

"Yes, well. From knowledge of myself, I know the temptation to work while sick. On a personal level, I've felt that work from home has often been a balm for my sicknesses. So Watson, when I insist you stay in bed, it is not because I doubt your agency as a woman, nor your capability as a doctor, but rather because-"

"You care," she finished. He shuffled again.

"Simply put. Yes."

A warm smile overtook her face. "Well. If it'll ease your mind."

"Thank you. I'll be holding down the fort, as it were, downstairs. If you need anything, just call."

He began to turn, but she stopped him in his tracks with a "Sherlock?". He looked at her. "Thank you."

He nodded. "Nothing you wouldn't do for me, dear Watson." Without another word, he took his leave, and Watson laid back with a smile, feeling warm for a reason separate from the fever. It was nice, being taken care of sometimes.


End file.
